


A Thing of Beauty

by persephoneggsy



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Amateur Artist!Eggsy, Artist!Harry, Falling In Love, Frottage, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythology References, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Tension, Smut, also Model!Eggsy, but mostly Pining!Eggsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephoneggsy/pseuds/persephoneggsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy, a budding artist, finds himself approached by his idol, Harry Hart, and is asked to model for Harry's latest work- which, naturally, will require Eggsy to pose half-nude in front of the man he's rapidly developing feelings for.</p>
<p>It goes pretty much as you'd expect it to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thing of Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr post about this a long ass time ago [here](http://persephoneggsy.tumblr.com/post/133214493943/yet-another-hartwin-au) and finally finished the fucking thing
> 
> I'm supposed to be doing algebra rn shhhh

Truthfully, Eggsy did not really know what to expect when he accepted Harry Hart’s proposal to model for one of his works. Eggsy, as a budding artist himself, had used a model before; his close friend Roxanne was more than willing to pose for a few hours, though he’d politely insisted that she keep her clothes on for the duration of their sessions. Not that Eggsy didn’t appreciate the female form, but Roxy was almost a sister to him, and staring at her naked body for four hours was not his idea of fun, no matter how much she said she was alright with it.

But, back to the matter at hand. Eggsy had experience  _ with  _ a model, but he had none when it came to  _ being  _ a model himself. Much less for someone as influential and talented as Harry Hart, who had works in several galleries throughout Europe. It was almost as big a surprise when the man approached him, of all people, at the charity gala he’d attended with Roxy. He’d asked, extremely bluntly, if Eggsy was at all interested in modeling.

Eggsy, with all his natural charm and grace, did little more than stutter uselessly as his idol and role model stared down at him, expression bemused. Roxy had stepped in then, informing Harry Hart that Eggsy was himself an artist, though an aspiring one, and that he had never modeled for another artist before. That, however, had only seemed to spur Mr. Hart’s determination, and somehow, by the end of the night, Eggsy had agreed to pose for Mr. Hart’s next work,  _ The Lover of Apollo.  _

He found himself at the door of Mr. Hart’s home in London a mere week later. A servant quickly answered the door, ushered him inside, and all but pushed him into what he assumed was Mr. Hart’s workshop. Paints and charcoal, as well as several blank canvases and unfinished works littered the spacious room, and at the very center of it was a chaise longue, covered with a single silken sheet.

The servant left just as swiftly as he’d come, instructing Eggsy to disrobe and cover himself with the silk sheet, and to wait for Mr. Hart’s arrival. Eggsy had balked at the directions, but the servant had gone before a word of protest could leave his mouth, leaving him alone in the large workshop.

Eggsy glanced around himself, unnerved by both the size and content of the room. It seemed surreal, to see so many unfinished paintings by Harry Hart, when all Eggsy had ever known were the immaculate, well-crafted, and critically acclaimed works he had seen in galleries. It almost made the man seem more… human. At least, Eggsy would have considered him as such, were he not so surprisingly charming and unfairly handsome the night they met. 

Eggsy had known for quite some time that his romantic interest tended to lie with his own sex, and that only made his current predicament all the more infuriating. Harry Hart was talented, intelligent, and extremely good-looking. And, to top things off, he was making Eggsy pose as Hyacinth, the Greek God Apollo’s lover. It was as if the stars were playing one big, elaborate prank on Eggsy, perhaps as revenge for him having such impure thoughts about men in the first place.

Eggsy was startled out of his thoughts by the door swinging open again, revealing none other than Mr. Hart. The older man smiled gently at Eggsy, which did very little to help with his internal dilemma.

“Mr. Unwin,” he said, referring to Eggsy’s proper name, which Roxanne had introduced him with at the gala. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Eggsy swallowed the growing lump in his throat and nodded, forcing himself to have some semblance of civility.

“I, uh… I’m flattered that you asked, Mr. Hart. But please, call me Eggsy?” At Mr. Hart’s raised eyebrow, Eggsy went on to explain, “It’s a nickname, and one I’m far more comfortable with than my given name.”

The artist smiled again, and nodded to show that he understood. “Of course. But then, I must insist that you call me Harry.”

By that point, Eggsy had grown so numb to surprise that he only made a noise of acquiescence, and watched Mr. Hart-  _ Harry-  _ move around the room, picking up one of the larger blank canvases and placing it on an easel that stood a few feet in front of the chaise longue. Harry looked up to meet his eyes, causing Eggsy to jolt.

“Would you prefer it if I left the room?”

Eggsy blinked. “I’m… sorry?”

He tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Unless, of course, you don’t mind undressing in front of me.” 

There was definitely  amusement  in the older man’s tone, and it was one reason Eggsy flushed a dark shade of red. The other reason was that he suddenly caught the artist’s implication, and he began stammering out a response. Mercifully, Harry didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence.

“It’s quite alright,” he said, perfectly gentlemanly. “You’re not the first, you know. Just shout when you’re ready for me to come in.”

With that, he sent the young man another smile, and walked out, leaving the door open by barely a centimeter. Eggsy willed his face to cool down, and he shook his head to clear it of any more distracting thoughts. Of course Harry Hart was so calm- he’d done this several times, with several other models who were just as, if not more attractive than Eggsy. With that in mind, he began to carefully remove his clothes, folding them up and placing them on the floor next to the chaise longue. 

He shivered a bit, once he was entirely bare and subjected to the slight draft in the room, and so he quickly went to drape the silk sheet around his waist. He seated himself on the chaise and called for Harry to reenter, which the artist did immediately. It seemed he was just waiting outside the door until Eggsy was finished.

Harry’s eyes zeroed in on Eggsy’s almost entirely-bared form, and despite whatever reassurances Eggsy had been chanting in his head all morning, the older man’s gaze was… intense. More than appraising, appreciative of a pretty face and well-built body- either of which Eggsy was not too humble to deny having. But a flicker of something darker, something predatory, flashed in Harry’s eyes as they trailed up and down the length of Eggsy’s body. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving Eggsy to wonder if it was merely his imagination.

“Lovely,” was all Harry said, shutting the door behind him. “You’re not too cold?”

Eggsy shook his head in the negative, and kept watching Harry as he moved back in front of the canvas.

“Good. Now… Perhaps you could relax a bit more. Be more… languid. As though you’re merely waiting for Apollo to return, and you’ve decided to lounge about until he does.”

Eggsy worried at his bottom lip while he tried to make his body comply with Harry’s instructions. Relaxing against the chaise longue was surprisingly easy, since the furniture was soft and obviously well-made, and the drag of the silk sheet against his skin felt remarkable. It was strange that he could feel so luxurious when he was barely covered.

Harry kept directing him, telling him how to pose, until he was finally satisfied. It still felt odd, being so bare and vulnerable with someone he might as well consider a stranger, and he  _ did  _ still feel a bit rigid, but Harry was adamant on making sure he was comfortable. If a direction led to Eggsy looking a bit strained, or if it didn’t seem certain that he could hold the pose for too long, Harry quickly recalibrated. The result of this was Eggsy resting on his side, facing Harry, one leg crossed over another, as his head rested on one of his arms. The other arm went along the length of his body, hand resting on his thigh. Harry looked quite pleased when he finally began sketching the outline, and for a while, things were silent.

It didn’t sink in until an hour into the session that what Eggsy was doing was completely ridiculous. He’d always dreamed of meeting Harry Hart, perhaps discuss art with him if he was lucky, but there he was,  _ posing  _ for the man, instead! He couldn’t justifiably be angry (as he was still flabbergasted by the fact that Harry had even asked him), but he was still a bit disappointed by his turn in fate. Perhaps it showed on his face, for Harry suddenly stopped sketching and looked upon him with a concerned frown.

“Is everything alright?”

Eggsy’s eyes darted up to meet the artist’s. “Y-Yeah, everythin’s fine.”

“Are you certain? You have this… almost melancholy look on your face.”

Eggsy cursed his ability to be read so easily. “Really, Mr. Ha-… Harry, everythin’s okay. I’m just… Not used to this.”

Harry gave a warm smile of understanding. “Relax, dear boy. You’re doing marvelously.”

Eggsy felt himself darken at the term of endearment, but once again, the more logical side of his mind told him to ignore it; who was to say that Harry wasn’t merely trying to assuage Eggsy’s nerves?

It took him a moment to even realize that Harry was still talking. “Although, perhaps you could alter your expression? It seems more like you’re dreading Apollo’s return, rather than anticipating it,” he joked.

“O-Oh, sorry. Um…” Eggsy hesitated. “H-How should I look, then?”

“Eager. Wistful. Perhaps a bit…” Harry paused. “Lustful. This  _ is  _ your lover we’re talking about. Just imagine something you desire… Surely a young man such as yourself is no stranger to such things?”

The young man’s blush intensified, if that were possible. Harry’s voice was unreasonably arousing, especially when discussing matters such as  _ desire  _ or  _ lust.  _ “A-Alright,” he replied, voice wavering. “I can try.”

Harry nodded and went back to his sketching, as Eggsy’s mind began to drift off with thoughts of, not surprisingly, Harry Hart. Because who else was he meant to think of, but the man who’d managed to captivate him, utterly and entirely, even though the combined amount of time he’d spent in his presence added up to only a few hours? He’d already been enamored with his work, and his looks and decorum were quickly adding to Eggsy’s affections. 

He imagined Harry’s body, though it was in reality hidden by the large canvas. He recalled the pristine suit and cravat Harry had worn at the gala, and the more casual, yet equally flattering outfit he’d chosen to wear today. He thought of Harry’s hair, thick and the color of chocolate, with its streaks of grey that only served to distinguish him further, of running his hand through it, ruining its perfect coiffure. He thought of Harry’s eyes, with their piercing dark color; eyes that seemed to take in every single detail and translate them into breathtaking works of art, with the assistance of his large, slender, and slightly calloused fingers. 

And he thought of Harry’s voice. Deep, crisply accented, and yet somehow so warm and inviting, addressing Eggsy as though they were equals. A voice which had, that night at the gala, called Eggsy ‘very handsome’. He imagined what it would sound like purring Eggsy’s name, or perhaps restricting a low groan…

“Yes, very go-… Oh.” That same voice said, stopped in the middle for some unknown reason. Eggsy’s eyes refocused, and he saw Harry staring at him in awe.

“What is it?” he asked breathlessly, internally berating himself for getting so carried away. He felt warm all over his body- it was a wonder he hadn’t grown hard; lovely as it was, the silk sheet would have done very little to hide his interest from Harry, and then where would they be?

“You look… beautiful,” came Harry’s soft reply. “Just like that. Like you’re truly enamored.”

Eggsy’s lips parted just so, a sign of his surprise. He willed his eyes to look down at the back of the canvas, and not Harry’s awed expression. He let out a demure thank you, for he didn’t know what else to say; after a few seconds of silence had passed, the sounds of Harry’s pencil scratching against the canvas could be heard again. 

Another hour passed, thankfully with no further incident, until Harry announced that it was time to take a break. The artist left the workshop to fetch some tea, leaving Eggsy to pull up his legs on the chaise and wrap the sheet around himself to cover up. There was no point in redressing, since they would presumably start again once they’d finished their tea.

Harry returned shortly, holding aloft a tray with two steaming cups balanced on top of it. Eggsy scooted up further on the chaise longue once it became apparent that Harry meant to sit on it with him. He gratefully accepted the teacup and began sipping idly, sneaking glances at Harry as he did the same.

“Eggsy,” Harry said suddenly, summoning the young man’s attention. “I do hope you don’t mind, but perhaps we could talk a bit about  _ your  _ work before we start again.”

Eggsy frowned, brows furrowing. “My work…?”

In lieu of an answer, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out several sheets of folded-up paper, laying on the space between them. But once Harry unfolded the papers, Eggsy’s eyes grew wide with horror.

“W-Where did you get those?” he demanded hysterically, and the reaction caused Harry to look alarmed.

“I… I received them in the mail. There was a note asking me for my opinion of them. Did you not…?” Harry trailed off, as Eggsy shook his head vehemently, looking very much like a scared animal. Harry frowned, and pulled out one sheet of paper from the pile; unlike the others, it was comprised entirely of words, meaning it was the very note that had been sent with the drawings. He handed it to Eggsy, who set down his cup and took it with shaking hands, and waited patiently for him to read it.

Understanding dawned on Eggsy’s face as he read. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke up. “… This is Miss Roxanne’s handwritin’.”

Harry frowned. “What? Why would Miss Roxanne-?”

“Of course she’d do this,” Eggsy groaned, hiding his face with the sheet. “For fuck’s sake, Rox-!” 

“Eggsy?” Harry called again. “Are you alright?”

He lifted his face, pure mortification on his fine features. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hart, it’s just… M-Miss Roxanne, she’s always pushin’ me to show off my sketches. She means well, but she never listens to me when I tell her no…”

The artist blinked, taking in Eggsy’s absolutely miserable look, and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. “Eggsy… I can understand you being upset with Miss Roxanne, but… Why on earth would you not want to show people your work? Especially when you’re rather good.”

That earned an incredulous look from the young man, so Harry continued.

“I mean it.” He held up one of his personal favorites from the pile, which was a peaceful and rather charming depiction of a sleeping woman, cradling a young toddler to her chest. The back of the paper had the inscription  _ ‘Michelle and Daisy’ _ . They bore a strange resemblance to the young man.

“This, for example. Your line work is steady, and you have a remarkable understanding of proportion for someone with no formal training. And of course, there’s a certain care you’ve taken, showing your feelings on the subjects. Family, I assume?”

Eggsy was looking at Harry, completely dumbfounded. “Y-Yes… My mum and little sister.”

Harry smiled gently. He pulled out another paper, this one depicting several different types of flowers. It was titled simply, ‘ _ Garden’.  _

“And the values in this one are lovely. Really Eggsy, you needn’t be so embarrassed to show others what you’ve created. An artist can only get so far without an audience.”

Eggsy shifted uncomfortably, pulling the sheet tighter around himself. “It’s not… I  _ do  _ show people my work, but… I just didn’t think that somebody as skilled as you would be interested…”

Harry paused, confusion reading on his handsome features. “… What?”

“I-I mean,” Eggsy began, flustered, “you’re this immensely successful artist and all, and I’m just a novice, and I’m a huge fan of yours, I thought I’d just be a bother, and I-…” He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a noise of distress. “… Shit.”

It was quiet for a moment, until Eggsy felt a hand under his chin, urging him to look up at the older man. He complied, expecting Harry to look confused or even unimpressed, but instead, the artist wore a look of complete bemusement. And perhaps a hint of embarrassment.

“Eggsy, I am flattered you think so highly of me,” he started softly. “But I was once where you are, you know. A little bit of confidence goes a long way. And I’m happy to critique for you, if you wish; you won’t be a bother at all.”

Eggsy stared at him for a long while, his look disbelieving. Then he looked away, took up his teacup again, and bowed his head in deference, staring down at the cooled amber liquid that remained.

“T-Thank you, Mr. Hart.”

“Harry,” he corrected lightly, smiling.

Eggsy lifted his head and smiled back at the artist, feeling something warm and pleasant settle in his chest.

“Harry.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the session continued on in a comfortable silence, the only noises being Harry’s pencil, and the soft sounds of their breathing mingling in the air. Eventually, their time drew to an end, and Eggsy was left alone to redress. He left Harry’s home with the reassurance that he would come back the next day, and Harry saw him off with a fond smile, as though he were bidding farewell to a dear friend.

And indeed, Harry greeted him much the same way when Eggsy arrived early the next morning. Eggsy went into the workshop feeling much better than he had the day before. Harry was just as inviting, and possibly even more friendly. Whereas yesterday was mostly silent, that day was full of light conversation. Eggsy had accidentally let a few swears out, not that Harry seemed to particularly mind, as a few slipped from his mouth as well. It was a pattern that continued on into the following sessions, and Eggsy was quite happy for that.

They spoke of art, of course, and Harry’s contemporaries in the field. But then, slowly, the conversations began to migrate to other topics, such as family and society. Harry had, by the fourth session, been told so many stories about Eggsy’s family, he felt that he knew them himself, and Eggsy could speak similarly about Harry’s friends.

Eventually, Eggsy gained enough confidence to ask Harry directly for a critique, and the artist was pleased to oblige. He brought over one of his journals and they spent about an hour and a half going through them all, with Harry complementing the areas he thought Eggsy was good in, and pointing out the areas where he could do better. Eggsy took in the advice readily, still not quite believing that one of the greatest living artist in the country was there with him, giving him  _ advice,  _ like they were actually colleagues. It was starting to feel like maybe they were, despite the fact that Eggsy’s burgeoning admiration for Harry was rapidly developing into something  _ more,  _ no matter how desperately he tried to tamp down his feelings. He didn’t want to ruin things with Harry by accidentally revealing the absolutely filthy thoughts he had about him, which were increasing in frequency during the nights.

But things came to a head during one session, about a week and a half after the first, with an outcome that Eggsy couldn’t have possibly foreseen.

It was in the midst of one of their comfortable silences, wherein Eggsy was close to dozing off on the chaise, when Harry murmured, his quiet voice echoing loudly in the spacious workshop.

“I think that does it for the outline. I can start painting as soon as tomorrow.”

Eggsy straightened, heedless of the fact that the action caused the sheet to slip down a little further down his hips. “Really?”

Harry hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze still on his canvas. “Would you like to see it?” He asked, finally looking up, but he stopped short once he noticed the extra skin Eggsy now had on display. But then, the young man wrapped the sheet around his shoulders like a makeshift robe, and made his way across the room, bare feet padding against the floor. When he got to Harry, the artist’s eyes were studiously trained on the canvas, as though he were keeping himself from looking anywhere else. Eggsy would have said something about it, had he not seen the canvas next.

He let out a quiet gasp. The canvas beheld the fruits of Harry’s labor, and it was quite a harvest. 

Every line was made with purpose, culminating to create a near perfect, if stylized, recreation of Eggsy on the rough, off-white surface. It was Eggsy, yet it wasn’t. His body seemed softer and smoother, his pose more relaxed than he’d felt. The sheet draped tastefully over the drawing’s body as it had with Eggsy’s, though it looked like the drawing was showing a bit more leg than its real-life counterpart. But his face, that was what caught Eggsy off-guard- it held such a rapturous expression, like love and longing brought together, he was hard-pressed to believe he could  _ ever  _ look like that. 

He turned silently to Harry, who was looking at him with something akin to anxiety in his features, as though this was his very first work, and  _ Eggsy  _ was the master.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful, Harry,” he replied honestly, giving the artist a soft smile. Harry seemed to relax almost immediately at that. “Though it don’t look a thing like me,” he added, tone joking.

Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced back at the sketch. “What do you mean? I think it looks just like you.”

“Come off it, Harry, I’m not that pretty. Or was I really makin’  _ that _ face the whole time?” Eggsy grinned in self-deprecation. 

To his surprise, though, Harry only nodded, staring down at Eggsy with that same, intense look. “I draw things as I see them, Eggsy. Trust me when I say I think this is the most perfect recreation of a model I’ve ever done.” His voice had dropped to a murmur, and Eggsy swallowed nervously. Suddenly they seemed to be standing too close, and the only things separated them were air, layers of clothes- on Harry’s part- and a thin silk sheet. 

Eggsy turned his eyes down to the ground, already feeling the familiar burn of a blush on his face. “Stop jokin’, Harry, or I might start thinkin’ you’re serious.”

Harry stepped closer, so that Eggsy could now see his expensive but well-worn shoes in his field of vision. “I am serious, Eggsy. It pains me to see you think so little of yourself. First with your art, now with  _ this _ . It’s unbelievable...” He brought his hand up to rest under Eggsy’s chin, bringing the young man’s head up like he had before. “... Especially when you’re the most radiant person I’ve ever known.”

Eggsy suppressed a shudder, not believing what he was hearing. “Harry-“

And then, before another word could escape, Harry bent down and sealed their lips together. 

Eggsy froze, mind racing with a million thoughts, most of them expressions of disbelief. He felt Harry’s hands move to grasp his shoulders, their heat emanating easily through the thin sheet. Harry pressed against Eggsy, but when the young man let out a surprised whimper, he abruptly pulled back.

Now at arm’s length, Harry stared at him. His expression was a combination of guilt, surprise, and shame.

“E-Eggsy,” he croaked, looking suitably horrified with himself. “I- I am so sorry, I don’t know what…” He closed his mouth, dropped his hands to his sides, and swallowed thickly. “Please forget that happened,” he pleaded.

Something within Eggsy snapped then, and just as Harry dejectedly turned his face away, Eggsy let go of the sheet in favor of wrapping his arms around the older artist’s neck. Harry let out a surprised noise before Eggsy reconnected their mouths, pressing himself tight against his pseudo-mentor like he would vanish at any moment.

Harry was stunned for a few seconds, but he soon melted into the kiss, responding eagerly to Eggsy’s advance. His hands came to settle on the young man’s waist, and it was then that Eggsy realized, with a jolt of both embarrassment and arousal, that the sheet had dropped quietly to the floor, leaving him fully exposed. Harry groaned into the kiss as he realized that fact, too, slipping his tongue into the cavern of Eggsy’s own mouth as his fingers flexed possessively on the pale, unmarked flesh. 

Eggsy gasped, knees buckling, but Harry easily held him up with an impressive strength Eggsy didn’t know he possessed. Before he knew it, he was being swept up bridal-style and carried over to the chaise longue, which Harry laid him against, not once breaking their contact. He only pulled away from the kiss once Eggsy was settled back against the soft material of the chaise, and Harry towering over him, to trace his mouth along the curve of Eggsy’s jaw, making the younger man moan.

“Do you have any idea,” growled Harry, sounding less like an artist and more like a predator, “how utterly tempting you’ve been? Your body, those lustful gazes… I had to restrain myself from ravishing you so many times…”

Eggsy mewled as Harry began mouthing his way down his neck, licking and biting where he pleased, making sure to mark the young man as his own. Eggsy loved it.

“I was thinkin’ about you,” he said quickly, breathlessly, and with only about a quarter of the shame he suspected he should have felt. “The whole time, I was thinkin’ of you, Harry, takin’ me apart. Oh…!”

Harry bit, hard, into the tendon of Eggsy’s shoulder, which caused a high-pitched yelp to escape his throat. 

“My darling boy,” he murmured, low and possessive. He loomed above Eggsy, his weight supported by his hands on either side of the younger man’s body, and his eyes swept hungrily over his naked form.

Eggsy didn’t bother to hide the shudder of pleasure that washed over him. There was something filthy about the scene they presented together; Eggsy, completely bare and already achingly hard, his cock jutting up against his stomach, demanding attention as it spurted precum onto his skin. And then there was Harry, who was still dressed, waistcoat and all, and the only sign that he was just as affected as his model was the quickly growing bulge in his trousers and the feral gleam in his eye.

“Absolutely lovely,” he managed to groan, returning his gaze to Eggsy’s face. “I don’t think I could ever capture this in a painting.”

Eggsy squirmed beneath him, trying to reach up and get friction somewhere,  _ anywhere,  _ on his body. “Harry,  _ please…” _

“Hmm?” Harry grinned wickedly and leaned in close, whispering in Eggsy’s ear. “What do you want, my dear boy?”

“You,” Eggsy gasped out, entire body arching to meet Harry’s. “I want  _ you,  _ Harry, please!”

The artist chuckled, reaching out to run his fingers through Eggsy’s hair. “Who am I to deny such a ravishing creature?”

And then his lips were back on the younger man’s skin, tracing down from his jaw to his chest, leaving trails that blazed hot in their wake. Eggsy tossed his head back with a breathy moan, his body arching up to meet Harry’s, but he couldn’t quite make it. In response, the artist used one of his hands to grip the younger man’s hips and lift him the rest of the way, Eggsy’s naked hips meeting his clothed own with a spark of pleasure than ran through both their bodies.

“Harry…” Eggsy breathed, reaching up to entangle his fingers in the man’s hair, like he’d fantasized. It was as soft as it looked. Harry nipped at his neck, at the same time grinding his hips in small, slow circles, letting the boy  _ feel  _ how affected he was, how  _ large  _ he was. To his satisfaction, Eggsy stammered out more expletives in response.

“Have you ever done this, my darling?” Harry asked, because he had to be certain. Eggsy appeared fairly virginal, but he’d managed to pull off the wanton and lustful gaze so well…

“N-Not with a man,” came the embarrassed reply. Eggsy swallowed the lump in his throat, cheeks burning. “N-Not even… Not even with a woman. I’ve never…”

Harry silenced him with a deep kiss, only pulling back once he was sure the boy would be breathless; he was. He leaned his forehead against Eggsy’s and offered him a gentle smile. 

“Then we should wait. I’d like to have your first time in a bed, dearest, not my workshop.”

Eggsy whined, thrusting his hips up against Harry’s; the artist stifled a surprised groan.

“Then take me to bed  _ now,”  _ he begged without shame. “Please Harry, I want you inside me…”

“I know,” Harry recovered, pressing small kisses to both of the boy’s flushed cheeks. “By  _ God,  _ do I know. But…” He bit his lip, feeling slightly ashamed at having put such a devastated look on the boy’s face. “We  _ are _ still in the middle of a business engagement.”

Eggsy blinked, his eyes still unfocused. “Business…? You mean, the painting…?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t usually let myself get so… distracted, while I work.”

Eggsy pouted at that. “I’m a distraction, then?”

“A very thorough one,” Harry agreed, smiling. He lifted his hand, only to trace his thumb along the curve of Eggsy’s cheek. The boy leaned into the touch, eyelashes fluttering. “But rest assured, Eggsy, once I’ve finished this painting, I  _ will  _ claim you.” Harry’s voice dropped to an almost feverish whisper. “I will mark every inch of your body and  _ ruin  _ you until you’re mine.”

Eggsy shuddered, gasping softly as Harry rolled his hips again. “Harry!”

“For now, though…” The older man grinned mischievously. “For now, I think I can indulge myself in this.”

Before Eggsy could ask what he meant, Harry’s lips were on his again, swallowing up whatever sounds he was about to make- which was just as well, since the artist was grinding his hips down in a vicious circle now, rutting against Eggsy’s leaking cock, making the young man scream into the kiss.

Harry’s hands slid down to Eggsy’s arse, each one cupping a cheek and using them as leverage to grind even harder; Eggsy broke from the kiss, tossing his head back with a keening whine, his own hands scrambling for purchase on Harry’s shoulders.

“Harry, Harry, please,  _ oh god, fuck-!”  _ he chanted. He felt so dizzy yet hyper-sensitive, as if Harry’s every action caused a reaction that made his mind turn to mush and his body alight with passionate fire.

Harry, in turn, kissed every part of Eggsy his lips could reach- his nose, his temple, his neck- until they amount of contact they maintained was no longer enough to satisfy him. He pulled his hands back hurriedly and opened the fly of his trousers, easing out his own hard, weeping cock to the warmed air of his workshop. Eggsy stared down at it, and his face flushed even darker. Harry was much longer and  _ much  _ thicker than him- how on earth would they even fit together?

The older man must have sensed his anxiety, for he brushed his lips against Eggsy’s nose and smiled, murmuring, “All in good time, my love,” before he canted his hips forward again. This time, however, when their naked cocks bumped together in a delicious slide of heated skin on heated skin, he grasped them both in one of his large hands, gripping them together securely. 

Eggsy panted, barely able to resist rolling his hips up. All he could manage to say now was Harry’s name- and that alone spurred the artist on, thrusting his own hips so that their cocks slid together, the friction aided by his helping hand, and Eggsy’s wanton moans were pure music to his ears.

A minute of that, and then Eggsy’s wails grew louder, his body tightened, and suddenly he came with a scream, white ropes of come smearing Harry’s knuckles and splattering on his own stomach. Harry groaned at the boy’s pleasure-struck expression, and quickly let go of his cock to avoid overstimulating him. He stroked his own cock instead, thrusting into the tight circle made by his fist, as Eggsy stared up at him in post-orgasmic bliss. 

“Harry,” he breathed out once more, this time like a prayer, and Harry was gone.

He gave a harsh grunt and nearly doubled over Eggsy, but managed to keep himself upright as he came all over the young man’s stomach and chest. Eggsy gasped at the sensation, Harry’s semen hot and sticky on his skin, though it was not necessarily a gasp of discomfort or disgust. Truthfully, Eggsy felt that Harry had already lived up to part of his promise- Eggsy felt marked and claimed, like he was Harry’s and Harry’s alone.

It felt  _ wonderful. _

They stayed in those positions for a good, long while, trying to regain their composure- and breath. Then finally, Harry straightened his back, tucking his now soft member back into his trousers. His warm, affectionate gaze traveled over Eggsy’s stained body, until it came to rest on the boy’s face.

“That was…” Eggsy tried, but he lost his will halfway through. So instead, he let out a delirious-sounding giggle. Harry was charmed by it.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes it was.” Reaching into his inner pocket, he produced a handkerchief and set to work wiping Eggsy clean, as loathe as he was to ruin the erotic image that the lad presented. But Eggsy likely wouldn’t have been comfortable with drying come flaking off of his chest, so Harry pushed back his urges and continued to clean him. Eggsy squirmed slightly under his touch, but the contented smile never left his face for a moment.

When Harry was done, he tossed his handkerchief carelessly to the floor (as it was likely ruined now beyond repair), and gathered Eggsy up in his arms; the boy was, in response, pliant and willing to be manhandled. He situated them into a position where Harry was seated against the back of the chaise longue, and Eggsy was rested on his lap, curled up and naked like a brothel whore attending to a customer. That thought alone made Eggsy squirm, but not in shame, like it would have done weeks ago. No, now the idea of servicing and pleasuring Harry had taken up most of his thoughts, leaving room for precious little else, as his mind immediately set to work trying to figure out how to return the favor. 

Harry brushed his fingers through Eggsy’s hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he did so, which in turn disrupted Eggsy’s thoughts.

“My gorgeous darling, my precious muse… I love you.”

Eggsy sighed peacefully, his body melting against Harry’s as all of his thoughts faded away, leaving just the artist and his warmth at the forefront of his mind. 

“I love you too, Harry. So, so much.”

He tilted his face upwards just as Harry tilted his down. They smiled at each other for a few moments before Eggsy took the initiative and pushed himself up those last few millimeters, bringing their mouths together again.

 

* * *

 

Only a month later did  _ The Lover of Apollo  _ make its debut to the art community, and it was to rave reviews. Harry’s techniques and attention to detail were praised by his contemporaries, and critics found his interpretation of Hyacinth “equally innocent and erotic”- in their words, of course. The model seemed so lifelike yet ethereally beautiful, subtly joyous and equal parts anxious, and so very obviously in love. Who had modeled for the piece, many demanded to know. Quite a few of Harry’s friends had begged for the information themselves, so that they could perhaps use him for their own works.

But Harry had offered little more than a small smile and a shrug, telling them that the young man portraying Hyacinth only wanted to model for Harry, and as such, Harry would not divulge his information to any of them. And yet, in the following months, a young man was spotted with increasing frequency at Harry’s home, or even by his side at a gala or event, and he bore a striking resemblance to the mysterious Hyacinth. But any questions concerning  _ The Lover of Apollo  _ or his relationship with Harry Hart that were asked towards the young man, who called himself “Eggsy”, were answered vaguely at best. All the public knew for certain was that Eggsy was Harry’s newest and only protégé, a talent that Harry had discovered not too long ago, and hoped to mold into something magnificent.

And really, after the debut of Eggsy’s first work, _Persephone’s Garden,_ which was received with unanimous laudation, they didn’t need to know much else.

They didn’t need to know that, despite having his own rooms in Harry’s spacious home, Eggsy slept mainly in Harry’s own bed, usually naked, curled up in the arms of his equally nude mentor.

They didn’t need to know how nearly every night Harry made Eggsy scream and see stars, the two of them performing acts together that the general public would surely find indecent.

And they didn’t need to know how, in the privacy of their own home, the way Harry would just sit and quietly draw Eggsy, filling up numerous blank sketchbooks with likenesses of the young man, each one captured with an inspiring amount of detail and, most telling of all,  _ love.  _ Nor did they need to know about Eggsy’s complementary set of books filled with sketches of Harry.

They didn’t need to know, because Harry and Eggsy knew all of this themselves, and that was more than enough for them both.

**Author's Note:**

> They were going to fuck originally but I burned myself out and so you get frottage instead
> 
> Maybe I'll do a special chapter afterwards wherein they do the nasty //shrug


End file.
